


Hearts Foundation

by ShadoKat771



Series: Hearts [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Laketown flashbacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadoKat771/pseuds/ShadoKat771
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While dealing with life after Laketown, Bard finds solace in the arms of someone familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts Foundation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a fic I posted earlier in 2015. I went back and did some revisions I felt were needed, and fixed the overly vague title of "From the Ashes". Hopefully, this time it will show up in the listings, also. Part One.

Hearts Foundation  
By ShadoKat771

Three months. Three months since the awful night the dragon destroyed Laketown. Three months since the great battle in front of the Gates of Erebor and within Dale. Once the dead had been mourned and buried, or burned, the living set about restoring their lives.

Dale was alive with the sounds of repair work and new construction, with Men and Dwarves working side by side to restore the city to its former glory. Spring was arriving, and the work was done in earnest. Buildings were restored, and roads were being repaved with stones of many colors.  
One of the first shops to be restored and reoccupied was that of the Apothecary, Maeve. She was short and athletically built, with long dark red hair kept up in braids under a cap of green, as was the dress she wore. Her eyes were the color of deep pools, neither blue nor green, but a mixture of both. At the moment, she was smiling as she said farewells to her latest customers.  
“Thank you”, she said. “You must tell me how that ointment works on your sore hands, Master Dwarf”. She smiled as she watched the two older Dwarves made their way up the street, the younger, red haired one guiding his older, grey haired brother through the crowds.  
They had not gone far when they were met by two young girls. Maeve recognized them at once. The older was on the brink of womanhood, and the younger not too far behind. They were the daughters of her old friend, the Dragonslayer, Dale's reluctant king. Her smile grew soft as she watched the girls chat briefly with the Dwarves, then waved when she had caught their eye. The girls smiled and waved back, then took their leave of the Dwarves and walked towards her.  
“Good day, Sigrid”, She said when they had reached her. “Good day, Tilda. What can I get for you today?”  
The older girl smiled, almost apologetically, in return. “We're almost out of feverfew and night-shade”, she replied. “and I know your stores must be getting low”.  
“It's alright”, Maeve reassured her with a smile. “The Elves have been bringing me stores enough to keep me going until my garden takes hold”. She gathered up the proper clay jars and began portioning out the herbs into the small leather pouches the girls gave her. As she worked, they chatted about how it would be so different to experience a Spring on dry, warm land. But as they talked, she noticed that there was something troubling the girls, something that they were reluctant to speak to anyone about.  
“Maeve?” Tilda asked suddenly. “Have you got something that would help Da and Bain?”  
“Tilda!”  
Maeve stopped in mid-motion, her smile dissolving into gentle concern. “No, Sigrid”, she said, “It's alright, let her speak”. She motioned them towards the back room of her shop and into chairs around her table. When they had settled, she asked, “what is the trouble?”  
It took a moment, then Sigrid said quietly, “They've both been having trouble sleeping most nights. They spend their days going around helping with the rebuilding, and come home at night beyond tired , but they never seem to be able to rest”.  
Tilda's voice was barely above a whisper. “Some nights they wake up yelling”, she said, “but mostly they cry”.  
The Apothecary felt her heart break as she looked at the girls with tears in their eyes. She took a breath before she asked quietly, “how long has this been happening?”  
“For three months now”, the older girl replied, “Ever since...ever since...” Her voice faltered.  
The Battle. Maeve knew, because it clouded her own dreams from time to time. She had been one of the women to take up Hilda's battle cry and fight alongside the men, even though her own husband had died many years before. Dale was her ancestral home, and she had grown up with the tales handed down by her grandmother of the splendor of the fair city and the little apothecary shop she now stood in. She had fought, seen and done things no woman or child should have, in defense of her home. She smiled reassuringly at the girls and nodded. “I know”, she said, “and I have just the thing”. She walked back into the shop, then came back with a small pottery jar, which she handed to Sigrid. “Take this”, she said, “and make a good , strong tea with it. Mix in some honey for the flavor, and give it to both of them. It should help”.  
“Thank you”, Sigrid replied, rising as she took the jar. A puzzled frown crossed her face as she felt the weight of it. “The whole jar?”  
Maeve nodded. “You may need it”. She watched as the girl began to reach into her pocket for a few coins. “Put your money away, Sigrid”, she added, smiling wider. “This is a gift”.  
“But Father will be angry when he finds out we didn't pay for these”, Sigrid protested.  
“I can handle your father”, Maeve countered, chuckling as she guided the girls to the front of the shop. “But you'd best be getting home before he worries about you”.  
The girls said their goodbyes and began to make their way up the street, but when they were a short distance away, Tilda let go of her sister's hand and ran back to Maeve.  
“What is it, Tilda?” Maeve asked as she knelt down to be more even with the little girl.  
Tilda caught her breath before she said quietly, “Da's worried about you”.  
The simple statement caught the woman off-guard, and all she could say was, “Oh?”  
The little girl nodded, her expression serious. “ I've heard him tell Bain and some of his friends to keep watch over you”, she continued, “because everything is new and no one knows were everyone lives anymore”, her words tumbled out in a rush, then dropped to a whisper. “He wants to make sure you stay safe”.  
Maeve's thoughts were reeling. She glanced around the crowded street. Sure enough, she spotted three young boys in three separate places, trying to be discreet but failing. She tried not to giggle, and smiled. “It's alright, Tilda”, she said quietly, “it will be our secret”. She rose, giving the girl a small squeeze on her shoulder and glanced back up the street. “Now, go with your sister, she needs your help making dinner”. She watched the girl run back to her sister, then drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she walked back into her shop.

Bard was bone tired as he walked into his home after dark that night. The smells of home and dinner and the hugs from his daughters revived him a little, but he still felt an emptiness inside. “Is that supper I smell?” He asked, a small smile crossing his lips.  
“Yes, Father”, Sigrid answered, smiling back at him.  
After dinner, he noticed his oldest was still busy in the kitchen, and soon he thought he smelled the scent of sweet herbs, the scent just on the edge of his memory. Shortly afterwards, Sigrid emerged from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs, handing one to her father and the other to her brother. “Here”, she said, “I made some tea for you”.  
Bard nodded his thanks, then inhaled the steaming, sweet scent. It was soothing and somehow familiar. He took a careful sip and memories began to fall into place. “Maeve”, he whispered into his mug. This was her special blend. She had given him several jars of it in the weeks after his wife had died birthing Tilda. It had helped ease his pain then, and it was soothing him now. “You bought this from the Apothecary?” He asked, although he already knew the answer.  
His oldest daughter nodded, but it was his youngest who replied. “She wouldn't let us pay for it, Da”, Tilda said, looking worried.  
“She wouldn't?” Bard asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did she say why?”  
“No”, Sigrid answered, “even after we told her you would be angry”.  
He shook his head and smiled reassuringly at his girls. “I'm not angry”, he said. No, if he was angry with anyone, it was himself, for not thinking of it himself. He remembered the day the fire-haired apothecary found what was left of the herb shop in the weeks after the Battle. She had been as excited as a child on Yuletide morning receiving a long-wished for present. Her joy had warmed his heart and inspired others to find new homes and places to ply their trades. It was hard for him to believe it was the same woman who had taken up a sword in the Battle and fought as hard as any man, and much harder than others. The thought made him chuckle.  
“Da?”  
Bard shook off the memories. “It's alright”, he said, still smiling. 'Ill talk with Maeve in the morning”. He growled good-naturedly. “But for now”, he continued, “it's time for you three to be asleep!”

The next day was clear with a warm wind from the west, and the people of Dale continued their work. Bard made his way through the streets to the edge of Market Square, trying to remember which shop was the Apothecary's. When he found it, he stopped short. Maeve was outside the shop, caring for the plants she had growing in pots both in front of and hanging around the windows and door. The sunlight was sending copper sparks off her hair, which she had put into one long braid at her back, nearly reaching her waist. Her movements were like a dance as she filled one pot, then another with water and checked for growth. She stayed her movements then, and looked back at him, then smiled.  
“Good morning, Bard”, she called, causing some nearby to look disapprovingly at her for addressing the would-be king so familiarly.  
“Good morning, Maeve”, he replied with his own smile as he walked to her. When he reached her, he said, “can I speak with you for a moment?”  
“Of course”, she said, putting down her watering can and wiping her hands on her apron. “come inside”. She led him inside and to the back room. “I just put some water on for tea. Would you like some?”  
He followed her and sat in an offered chair. He had known her for an age, it seemed, but now it was as if he was seeing her for the very first time. He watched as she busied herself making the tea and felt a small shaft of light breach the darkness he felt inside. She was beautiful.  
“You said you wanted to talk to me about something?” She asked, not turning around as she worked.  
Bard shook himself out of his musings. “Yes”, he said finally. “A matter of some tea, in fact”.  
Maeve turned around then, smiling. She handed him a mug of tea and then sat down with her own. “You owe me nothing for it”, she said. “As I told your daughters, it was a gift”.  
“Maeve”, he said, his smile fading a bit, “you can't go around giving away your work without getting paid for it”.  
The red haired woman took a sip of her tea, then said,“Everyone pays for what the herbs are worth”, she countered. “I just choose to gift some to those who are special to me. You have done much for these people, and for me”.  
“Maeve”, he started to protest, but she had put down her mug and placed her hand over his. He could feel the warmth and the softness of her touch. Words failed him. It had been so long, so very long...  
She could see the different emotions play across his face and in his eyes and knew those same emotions were reflecting in her. She smiled at him, then rose from her seat and knelt next to him, still touching his hand. “We are much alike, you and I”, she said softly. “For far too long we have been hiding our hearts from everyone, especially ourselves”.  
Bard smiled down at her, feeling he could gladly drown in the pools of her eyes. He reached out with his free hand and gently touched her cheek. It was softer than a flower petal. “Aye”, he said quietly, “we have, haven't we? What do you think we should do, then?”  
“I think you already know”, she replied, her tone taking a teasing lilt. Her eyes closed as he leaned closer to her, then flew open at the sound of a commotion out on the street.  
“My Lord Bard!” A young boy's voice called. “My Lord Bard!”  
The two got up from the table and rushed outside to find a young boy running towards them and calling.  
“What is it, lad?” Bard said as he caught the boy.  
The boy gulped in a few breaths of air then said, “there's been an accident on Lamp Street. A rigging fell onto a warming fire. There's wounded”.  
“I'll get my kit”, Maeve said, rushing back inside and coming out with a mid-sized pouch. She followed the other two to Lamp Street to find the chaos of an accident scene and a group of men putting out the small fire that had started.  
As she tended to the wounded, Maeve heard Bard calling out orders and bringing calm to the situation, but when she looked up from her work, he was gone. She asked a few bystanders where he had gone, and after taking her kit back to her shop, and getting a shawl, she went in search of him.  
She found Bard on a high wall looking to the south, lost in thought. She approached him quietly, not wanting to disturb him, but he became aware of her and smiled slightly. She went and stood beside him, looking at the view that held his gaze. It was the ruins of Laketown. They stood in silence for a few moments, then Maeve turned to him and asked quietly, “have you ever talked to anyone about it?” She watched the question form in his dark eyes. “About what happened that night. Have you told anyone?”  
Bard was silent for a few moments, looking out towards the ruins in the lake. “No”, he replied finally. “I haven't. There's always been so much to do, so many people to look after...”. His voice trailed off into silence.  
Maeve put her hand on his arm as it rested on the wall. “Tell me”, she said quietly. “Now. All of it. Spare no detail”.  
He looked down at her then, searching her face. Then he smiled slightly, took a deep breath and said, “very well. I will tell you everything”. He took another breath and then in a quiet voice began to tell her of waking up in the jail cell, then looking out the barred window to see the dragon's approach in the night.  
She listened quietly as he spoke, his voice quiet and steady, telling how he escaped and then raced across the burning rooftops to find a high enough space to shoot from. “I remember hearing the bell”, she said when he paused for a moment. “I turned back to see why it had stopped ringing”. She continued. “I thought I saw someone up on the bell tower”, she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “but it was hard to see through all the fire and smoke”. Her eyes widened. “It was you”.  
Bard nodded. “Aye”, he replied in kind. “I was soon out of arrows”, he said, “and then”, he hesitated, his brown eyes starting to fill with tears. “and then Bain appears in front of me, with the Black Arrow”. He looked back out over the lake. “The bow was broken”, he continued, his voice beginning to quaver. “I had to use my son as a sight”. He looked at her then, the tears falling on his cheeks. “My son...”.  
Maeve turned toward him and took him in her arms, holding him close. After a few moments, she said quietly, “you did what needed to be done”. She hugged him tighter. “You saved your children. You saved us all”.  
He pulled back to look at her face. “But they want me to be a king”, he said quietly. “I never wanted that”.  
“I know, Bard”, she said. “But ever since that night, you have lead us. You helped us find shelter, you helped us fight for our new home, and afterwards, you helped us begin the rebuilding of our lives. You are already a king in everything but name”. She smiled up at him. “And you are a very good one, if I may say so”, she added. She looked back down into the city. “You have done much, and there is still much to do”, she said.  
“I need to get back to it”, he agreed. He hugged her and started to leave, then stopped and walked back to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I will come to you later”, he said. “We still have to talk about that tea”. With a wink and a smile he was gone, leaving her standing stunned in the sunshine.

That night, after he made sure his children were safely fast asleep, Bard made his way through the silent streets to the Apothecary's shop. He was surprised to find the door open and walked in cautiously. “Maeve?” He called.  
“I'm here”, she called from the back room.  
He walked into the shop and through to the back room, where he found her at the table,stirring something in a small wooden bowl. A sweet scent filled the room, which he traced to a small pot bubbling on the stove. The scent filled him with peace and warmth, and he spent a few moments breathing the sight and the scent in. “What is that I smell?” He asked finally.  
“Athelas” she replied, glancing up with a smile. “We know it as kingsfoil”.  
“Kingsfoil?” Bard echoed, puzzled. “The weed we feed to the pigs?”  
“It's not a weed, Bard”, she replied. “I have had both a Dwarf healer and an Elf healer teach me of its healing powers”. She giggled. “And if a Dwarf and an Elf agree on something, it is well worth noting”.  
Bard chuckled, nodding. “Aye”, he said, “that's true”. His chuckle faded as he watched her work. She had finished the mixing, and was now spooning the creamy white substance into small clay jars. He let her finish the task, then crossed the room to her, taking the bowl and spoon out of her hands and taking her into his arms.  
“Bard”, Maeve said, but stopped as she felt his hands gently cup her face. She looked up into his brown eyes and felt her heart begin to pound. Her next words were muffled by a sound kiss. When they finally parted, both were breathless.  
When she tried to speak again, he placed a gentle finger over her lips and hushed her. “You said today that we have been hiding our hearts for far too long”, he said softly. “And you were right. We have. We've waited long enough”.  
Maeve kissed his finger then, and smiled. 'Then”, she said quietly, “go close the door”.  
He nodded, smiling, kissed her again, then went and closed the door to the shop, sliding the bolts into place to lock it. When he returned, he saw that she had banked the fire in the stove and was standing by a stairway that led upward from the workroom, smiling and holding out her hand. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then followed as she led him up the stairs.  
Maeve's bedchamber was small, with only room for a bed, a wardrobe, a trunk and a chest. A low fire burned in a fireplace along one wall. Bard raised her hands and placed a kiss on them, then knelt in front of the fire to add some small logs to it . When he had finished and stood up and turned around, his breath caught in his chest.  
She stood by the bed, dressed only in a long white shift , tied loosely at her neck , her braid mussy and falling over one shoulder. She smiled, holding out her hands to him. He went to her and took her hands, kissing them, then reached for her braid and untied the ribbon that held it. He ran his fingers through the waves as she shook her head slowly, shaking the plaits loose. “So soft”, he said quietly. He kissed her again, then, deeply, his hands moving to begin untying the bow at her throat. After a moment, he broke the kiss, trailing light kisses across her cheek and onto her throat.  
“Bard”, Maeve whispered, not quite trusting her voice then, “you're trembling”.  
“So are you”, came his husky whisper against her skin.  
Between the two of them, they undid knots and loosened clothing until her shift was in a pool on the floor at their feet, and she was undoing the last few buttons of his shirt. She had just begun sliding the shirt off his shoulders, reveling in the warm muscles beneath her touch, when she heard him swear softly against her shoulder.  
“What is it?” Maeve asked, suddenly concerned.  
“Boots”, Bard replied between kisses. “I still have mine on”.  
She suppressed a giggle, then kissed him, guiding him to a seated position on the edge of her bed, then climbing into bed behind him. As he worked off the boot lacings, she caressed his shoulders, placing small, light kisses on them.  
“You're not making this very easy”, Bard said as he worked, grinning.  
“Isn't that the idea?” Maeve purred into his ear, then nibbled around the edge. She slid an arm around his shoulders then, and pulled him backwards as he finished kicking off his boots, kissing him.

Maeve awoke to the sensation of her shoulder being caressed and a soft kiss on her forehead. She smiled sleepily and hugged Bard. “What time is it?” She asked quietly.  
“An hour or two before dawn”, was his reply, his lips still near her forehead. He smiled as she lifted her face to him and kissed her.  
“We should be up and about, then”, she said sometime later.  
“I would much rather stay here”, he replied, grinning.  
“Aye”, Maeve countered. “So would I, but your children would worry, and others would worry about where their king is”.  
Bard's smile faded. “I will only be king on one condition”, he said quietly. He saw the question in her eyes and reached to caress her cheek. “That you would be my queen”.  
Maeve didn't reply with words, but he knew by her kiss her answer.  
Sometime later, they parted at her doorway with a kiss and a smile, not caring that there were now other people beginning their day out on the street.  
By the time it was mid-day, the rumor had spread that the would-be king and the Apothecary were a couple, much to the surprised delight of many.  
“So”, Hilda asked as she took a potted plant from Maeve, “is it true?” At the other woman's blank look, she added, “you and Bard Dragonslayer”.  
At that moment, Maeve looked up to see the man in question walking by with a crowd around him. Their eyes met and they smiled knowingly at each other. “Yes”, she said. “Yes, it's true”.

Only the Beginning...


End file.
